


December

by orphan_account



Series: The Answer [2]
Category: Mafia (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, aj was on painkillers when we wrote this, henry didn't just leave sicily because of mussolini, henry tomasino is a VERY repressed man, henry's fine it's okay he just has an eyepatch now and many many scars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-08-08 19:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16435484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: On a cold December night, Vito Scaletta and Henry Tomasino wait for a mark.





	1. December

As Henry watches the empty streets below, silent save for the festive music of a radio flowing from one of the open and lit windows of the brownstone across from them, he thinks.

He’s been thinking a lot lately— always has, but now that he’s been knocking on death’s door more than once, it’s hard not to get lost in his own mind. It’s hard not to consider what could’ve happened if that shot to his leg got infected, or if he bled out in broad daylight before the only two men he could call friends got there in time. It’s hard not to sit in fear of what could happen next, whether it would be the end of him, when it would _happen._ He wishes that he could just _stop_ letting these ceaseless thoughts get the best of him, but every time he tries to push them away, they just come crashing back into him like a wave upon the shore. It doesn’t do him any good to be so paranoid, especially not in this business and especially not right _now,_ as he waits for a mark with Vito by his side.

Henry suppresses a frown as he takes a long drag from his cigarette, tilting his head towards Vito but not actually looking at him, the other man in his blind spot. “Do you see anything?” He breathes out with the smoke, finally turning to face Vito fully and peer at him with his one good eye.

Vito hums, taking a drag from his own cigarette before flicking ash into the floor without a care. “Nope,” he says, “Not a damn thing.” He wrinkles his nose. “Bastard better show up soon. It’s gonna snow.”

Henry heaves a great sigh, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the city below. “Just our luck,” he remarks dryly, almost returning his cigarette to his lips— but he stops when he realizes that it’s down to the last few puffs, the scowl he’s been trying to hide now crossing his face. He lets it fall to the floor and crushes it underfoot, reaching into his suit jacket for his box of cigarettes. Unfortunately for him, it’s empty; that was his last cigarette. Resisting the urge to sigh yet again, he turns to Vito and holds out his hand. “I need another cigarette.”

Vito quirks an eyebrow, digging through his own pockets for his pack and handing off a cigarette. Once Henry’s got it between his teeth, he lights it for him. He snaps his lighter shut before speaking. “There. Happy now?”

Henry nods wordlessly, breathing in a hefty amount of smoke and blowing it out once he faces the window once more. In the silence between them, his mind fills the gaps— back to those unconstructively existential thoughts, those thoughts that get him nowhere and only serve to fill him with dread. He’s never talked about them; he’s not sure if he _wants_ to, really, since he’s always upheld this image of being the sensible, put-together man on the outside. But somehow, one musing slips through the cracks. “Sometimes I wonder what I’m still doing here, you know?” He inhales deeply— exhales, returns his cigarette to his lips and takes a bit of a shaky drag, barely moving it away when he breathes out more smoke. “Why God let me live _twice,_ that sort of thing.”

For a long moment, Vito just stares at him— not speaking, only breathing in and out, puffs of warm air coming out with each one in the crisp December cold. He leans against the wall, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Guess you’re just not done on this earth,” he says, and he brings his cigarette to his lips, taking a drag. He watches the smoke float to the ceiling before continuing. “I don’t know. What do you _want_ me to tell you, Henry?”

Henry exhales through his nose almost _amusedly,_ a rueful smile crossing his face as he merely continues to stare down at the streets. “I don’t know, either,” he admits, shifting his weight to his other foot, arms crossed. No, not just crossed— it’s almost as if he’s trying to hold himself, to soothe and silent the incessant _what ifs_ constantly running through his mind. Again, he shakes his head, taking a puff from his cigarette and letting it out in a sigh. “I don’t know why I even brought it up.”

Vito shrugs slightly, regarding him with an unreadable expression. He finishes off his own cigarette with one long drag before dropping it and crushing it beneath the toe of his shoe. “S'fine,” he says, “It's obviously weighing on you.”

Henry hums. “Yes, it is,” he says, surprisingly quiet to even himself. Another drag— he’s already worn this one down almost halfway, the smoke he exhales floating out of the window and into the cool night air. He’s about to continue when sees specks of white beginning to dance by outside, falling to the ground and building up with every new flurry. Henry furrows his brows. “Snow’s early this year.”

Turning his attention to the window, Vito bites out a groan and pulls his jacket further around him. “Fuckin’ _great,_ ” he says, and he hits his head against the wall. Once, twice, three times. Then, with a quiet sigh, he focuses his gaze on Henry once more. “Told you it was going to.”

Henry closes his eye, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “You did,” he says, dropping his hand to retrieve his coat from a nearby rack and pulling it on, then moving to put on his gloves— but he stops, turning to meet Vito’s eyes. Silently, he crosses the room so he’s standing in front of the other man, holding out his gloves. “Since you hate the cold so much.”

Vito just stares, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s not the cold I hate,” he says, but nevertheless, he takes Henry’s gloves and slips them on. He rubs his hands together. “Just the snow. My sister used to laugh at me— tell me how I should be used to it with how long we’ve been here.” He blows some warm air onto his hands now. “I used to get sick a lot, so that’s probably part of it. I’unno.”

Another hum. Henry shoves his hands in the pockets of his coat, folding them into fists to generate more warmth— although, the feeling of his freezing fingertips digging into his palms is _not_ a pleasant sensation. “I understand,” he says, gaze trailing back towards the windows, watching the snow come down with the one eye that isn’t covered with a patch. “I never saw really heavy snow until I was in Paris.” He’s opening up. He… doesn’t always _like_ opening up, but… right now, it feels like the right thing to do. “Sure, it’d snow a _little_ in Sicily, but never as much as it would there.” Unknowingly to even himself, his lips twitch into a fondly reminiscent smile. “I still remember the first time I saw the Eiffel Tower all covered in white.”

Vito is staring again. Whether that’s good thing or not, Henry doesn’t know. “Huh,” he says, voice soft, “Only ever been here and Sicily.” He doesn’t focus on the topic for too long, gesturing. “Here. Give me your hands. Only fair I keep ‘em warm since I stole your gloves.”

Henry brings his gaze back to the man before him, eyebrows raising in slight surprise, but he doesn’t protest. He lets Vito take his hands, and the moment he does, there’s a _spark_ that runs through Henry’s fingertips. He inhales sharply— exhales, warm breath visible in the cold air. “Thanks,” he mumbles, eyebrows furrowing as he just looks back out at the flurry beyond the window. Honestly, he’s just trying not to look at Vito’s face— why that is, he doesn’t know. And despite how quickly the other man was keen to move on from the topic of Europe, Henry continues. “Paris was… nice. I stopped there before I came to the States, just for…” He trails off, giving a small shrug of his shoulders and shaking his head as his eye drops to the floor. Painful memories cross his mind— namely, the reason he fled to Paris in the first place, something _very_ distant from and, to him, _worse_ than Mussolini. “Refuge. I don’t know.”

Humming slightly, Vito rubs Henry’s hands between his, trying to generate some warmth. “Don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he says, and much to Henry’s surprise, he brings his hands up to blow on them before he continues to rub them together in between his. All it serves to do is quicken the pace of his heart. “We all got… I’unno, baggage, I guess.” He shrugs a bit. “Is this even helping?”

“It is,” Henry replies all-too-quickly, quietly cursing himself for sounding so _vulnerable._ He swallows hard, then, letting his eye fall shut and lowering his head. He just _stands_ like that for a while, ignoring the feeling of the other man’s intense gaze almost burning into him. When he opens his eye, he’s gazing right into Vito’s own, the sudden eye contact catching him off-guard. For the first time tonight, they’re in complete silence— even the radio that had been playing from the brownstone across from them has been shut off, the previously-lit window pitch black. Henry wants to look away, he really does, but… he _can’t._ He’s too lost in Vito’s dark blue eyes, dark enough to be mistaken for black, dark enough to reflect the stars above and barely differ from the midnight sky. His mouth is dry. “You know,” Henry starts, breathing out amusedly through his nose and shaking his head, a weary smile on his face, “this is the most I’ve said about myself to anyone in _years._ ”

Vito gives him a soft smile of his own, knocking the air out of Henry’s lungs. “This is the most I’ve ever heard you say _period,_ ” he says, tone joking. He’s yet to let go of Henry’s hands, absentmindedly rubbing his thumbs over his knuckles. “I’m shocked, honestly. I didn’t know you were capable of it. Probably the only Sicilian I know that doesn’t talk everybody’s ears off.”

That gets an actual _laugh_ out of Henry, quiet and fleeting. He takes a moment to finally respond, his hold on Vito’s hands getting just that bit tighter— this is the most intimate contact he’s had in a long time, since Bettina died, since… the _incident._ Despite the dreadful memory, he still smiles, all of the pain chased away with one look at the man before him. “Creates a stark contrast between me and Joe, doesn’t it?” He asks, a half-hearted attempt at a joke of his own.

With a loud, boisterous laugh, Vito shakes his head. “Oh, you can make jokes too, huh?” He gives Henry his usual crooked grin. “I’m learning a lot about you tonight. Startin’ to wonder what else you’re gonna teach me.”

 _Oh._ Henry opens his mouth to speak— shuts it. Suddenly, Vito’s gloved hands are almost _burning_ his own, the warmth turning nigh unbearable. Judging by the other man’s tone of voice, he has something more than _conversation_ on his mind. But Henry doesn’t _dare_ make the first move, partly out of fear and partly out of… well, it's all just  _fear._ He takes a deep breath before replying, eyebrows knit together as he gazes into Vito’s eyes. “What do you mean by that?” He asks, unable to keep his tentativity out of his tone.

There’s a sudden tinge of red to Vito’s cheeks, as if realizing what he’d said. He clears his throat and looks away. “Gee, I’unno,” he says, and he _still_ hasn’t let go of Henry’s hands, even in spite of his sudden bashfulness. “What do you want it to mean?” His words echo what he had asked earlier.

Henry eyes him carefully, his heart pounding in his chest, its pace the quickest it’s been in what may very well be _years._ He stays silent for what feels like an eternity, only peering searchingly at Vito’s face, scouring for any sort of underlying deception or malice. When he doesn’t find any, he’s… _surprised._ No, he doesn’t really believe that Vito is the type of man to _trick_ him when it comes to something like this, but… it doesn’t hurt to be careful. Especially not after what he’s been through. Henry swallows hard yet again, throat drying up alongside his mouth. “I… I don’t know,” he says, giving the very same answer. Unwittingly, he’s moved a bit closer, eye not leaving the other man’s face for even a second. His next words are… oddly _sincere,_ almost uncomfortably so. “I want you to tell me what _you_ want it to mean, Vito.”

Lip bit between his teeth, Vito brings his eyes back to meet Henry’s own. “I’m not sure I should say, honestly,” he mumbles, and his expression turns surprisingly sheepish compared to his usual confidence. He drops his attention down to their hands, running his thumbs over Henry’s knuckles once more. “You’ll probably resent me for it.”

Chest rising and falling, each breath coming as a visible puff of warm air, Henry lets his eye trail down to their hands just as well. His heart’s pace has only quickened, even _stuttering_ in his chest at Vito’s words. Silently, he shakes his head, expression softening immensely. “I wouldn’t,” he says, and by _God,_ he hopes that his suspicions as to what _‘it’_ may be are correct. He inhales deeply in order to speak— his breath catches as his mind flashes with terrible memories of the night he left Sicily, almost like a film reel, every face of every man he used to _trust_ in that agonizing moment projected in his eyelids. “I know how it feels.”

Vito inhales sharply, blush worsening at Henry’s words. “Oh,” he breathes out, and he doesn’t continue, not right away. He seems to be trying to find the right thing to say, if his furrowed brows and thoughtful expression are any indication. “Then, is it— is it alright if I kissed you?”

Henry nods, not saying a word— he’s sure that if he _tried,_ his heart would jump out of his throat. He only takes a step closer, head tilted to one side as he gazes patiently at Vito, his grip on the other man’s hands tightening ever-so-slightly. Vito gives him a nod of his own before closing the gap between their lips, soft and tender. It doesn’t take long for Henry to reciprocate, kissing back a bit _eagerly,_ even, one hand coming up to cup Vito’s face. Vito’s own hands drop to Henry’s waist, cautiously, carefully. He’s obviously afraid to overstep any boundaries.

With a small hum, Henry pulls away only to speak, his words barely above a whisper. “It’s okay.” His thumb runs across Vito’s cheek, eye still closed. “Don’t hesitate.” He pauses to bite his lower lip, cracking his eye open to gaze into Vito’s. “Please.”

Swallowing hard, Vito nods once more and lets his hands slide just the tiniest bit lower. Then, without hesitation, he moves back in for a far more passionate kiss. Henry gives a noise of surprise against Vito’s mouth— but he doesn’t waste any time in squeezing his eye shut and melting into it, both hands cupping Vito’s face as he works his lips against the other man’s. All the while, Vito’s moved his hands up to grip the collar of Henry’s shirt, pulling him towards the single table in the empty, worn-down room. Henry ends up pinning him against it, arms braced on either side of Vito and palms resting on the solid wood, tongue prodding at the man’s lips in a request for entrance. Vito’s quick to comply, fingers curling tighter into Henry’s shirt as he deepens the kiss.

Henry lets his tongue slip into Vito’s mouth, sliding his hands down the man’s body and coming to a stop just under his thighs— he wants to lift him onto the table. Vito breaks away for a moment, only to breathe out, “Do it.”

Only giving a wordless nod, Henry hefts Vito up and onto the table, moving in so that their hips properly meet. He’s hovering over the other man now, leaning down to kiss at Vito’s neck as one hand comes up to close around his throat. A groan escapes Vito’s lips and without a moment’s thought, he moves to expose more of his skin. “Are we really doing this?” Vito asks, eyes fluttering shut. “I mean, I’m not complainin’. Just asking.”

Henry pulls back enough to look him in the eyes, reaching up to brush a few strands of hair out of Vito's face as he gives possibly the most tender look he’s ever offered the man. “As long as you want it,” he breathes, the briefest flash of a smile crossing his face. “ _Only_ if you want it.”

Vito gives him a smile of his own. “I do,” he says, and he leans in to brush his lips against Henry’s. “I want it.”

Letting out a breathless chuckle, Henry kisses Vito slowly, almost _teasingly,_ as he trails his rough hands down the man’s still-clothed body and begins to unbuckle his belt.

Unbeknownst to either of them, their mark drives by outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yea we're doing mafia now
> 
> \- denounce (riley)


	2. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rough morning after. A new assignment. Feelings are hidden beneath a glass surface.

Of all the places Vito expects to wake up in the morning, Henry Tomasino’s bedroom is at the bottom of the list.

This is the kind of morning where he _should_ wake up disgruntled, hungover, and ready to bid whatever call girl he’d had the night before goodbye. Instead, he’s sore in places he’s usually not, the bed is already cold, and— well, okay, he’s still disgruntled. That’s a given, considering that last night shouldn’t have even happened in the first place. Regret is an all too familiar feeling for Vito; it gnaws at his gut every day of his life and apparently today is going to be no different from the last, if not worse. Groan escaping his lips, he moves to sit and bury his face in his hands, too-fancy silk sheets pooling around his waist.

What had he even been _thinking?_ Bad enough he’d slept with another man, but with _Henry_ _?_ He’d probably just signed on for a death sentence. No, actually, there was no _probably_ about it;  he’d just put a target on his own head for others to do what they pleased and leave him in a ditch to bleed out. Vito could picture it _vividly_ and that only made his fear ten times worse. Another low groan rises from his chest, as he digs his heels into his eyes hard enough to dot the inky blackness with stars.

He can’t even take a minute to appreciate how _nice_ it had felt to be that close to the other man, to have him whisper empty promises he could’ve only dreamt up before last night. He should’ve turned him down when Henry had suggested they take it to a bed, voice gruff and low in his ear, sending electricity down his spine with each word. He really should’ve just said _no, no, no, we’ve done enough damage_ _,_ but it was so _rare_ to witness him being so open for once, so unreserved and brazen and completely honest. All he would’ve had to do was bid Henry goodbye the same way he always would with the girls he woke up to each morning, a solution so simple that even one of the pigeons in Central Park could comprehend it, and he did the exact opposite of that. He got in the car with Henry, he took it further with his head in his lap, he let the man bury his fingers in his hair and push him down, down, _down_ while he mumbled words of encouragement and a hearty amount of praise _._ One messy car ride later and they were past the point of no return, so of course he didn’t stop. He didn’t stop to _think,_ not for a minute, and Henry made it hard to anyway when he had that same hand in his hair, pushing his face down into the mattress as he took him from behind with an animalistic frenzy that Vito had never experienced before.

This isn’t helping. Inhaling sharply, Vito spares a quick glance to his lap before moving to throw the covers aside and stand. His clothes are all over the room and he bites out a swear when he hears the nearest restroom’s shower turn off. He had maybe a few minutes to get dressed and make his grand escape before Henry could catch him, so with another swear, he goes about it as fast as possible. He finds his boxers under the bed with his belt, his shirt is by the door, and he’s stumbling into his trousers when—

“You’re awake.”

Henry’s standing in the doorway with one hand on the frame and only a towel tied around his waist, skin flushed red from the heat of the shower and strands of hastily-dried black hair hanging in his face, droplets of water still running down his body. His eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw is held tight— he’s back to his usual self, as if last night had never even happened. It seems that he doesn’t have anything more to say, as he only regards Vito with a strange amount of _apprehension,_ shifting his weight from one foot to another as he brings his piercing gaze to the younger man’s eyes.

Vito is quick to look away, focusing on getting his pants on. “I’m awake,” he echoes, as he manages to get his zipper pulled up and goes to pull his belt through the loops. “I’ll be out of your hair soon enough. We don’t even gotta talk about it if you don’t want.” He breathes out a sigh and runs a hand back through his hair. “Though, it’d be nice if you said _something_ instead of just starin’ at me like I’m—” He pauses, eyebrows furrowing as he gestures with his hand. “—like I’m some sort of freak.”

Silence. Henry bites out a sigh as he moves past Vito, throwing open his closet and just… _standing_ there. He’s intentionally avoiding eye contact now— Hell, he’s avoiding the possibility of Vito even looking at his _face,_ turned away completely as he occupies himself with looking over the various clean suits within his closet. “That wasn’t why I was starin’,” is all he says, tone blunt and cold as he begins to sift through each ensemble.

Vito could drop it. He could drop the topic and leave now, pretend this never happened, go on with his life of loneliness and hookers, but— there’s an absolute demon of a voice in the back of his head telling him to stay where he stands and push the envelope. “Then enlighten me,” he says, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “Tell me why you were starin’. Can’t just be because you think I’m such a hot piece of ass.” His tone is all sorts of snarky; even then, there’s a waver to his words that absolutely betrays him. “Tell me, Henry. I wanna know.”

That gets a look out of Henry that could only mean _‘don’t do this’_ , expression deadpan and eye narrowed. He doesn’t even dignify Vito with a response, picking the suit he fancies and isolating it from the others, crossing over to his dresser to dig out a pair of boxers and a well-worn white undershirt. That voice in the back of Vito’s head is only getting louder and with little thought, he makes his way to Henry’s side. “Is this really how you wanna do this? I get wantin’ to pretend it didn’t happen, because believe me, I kind of wish it didn’t, but—” Vito breathes in deeply and gives the other man a slight shove. “You can’t just give me the silent treatment. Stop bein’ an asshole and _talk_  to me.”

To his surprise, Henry seizes up at the shove and goes completely tense, nostrils flaring as he snaps his head to glare half-heartedly down at Vito. There’s something in his eye that gives away what he’s really feeling— guilt. Sheer, unadulterated, one-hundred percent _guilt,_ nothing more and nothing less. “I _don’t_ want to pretend it didn’t happen,” he says, the sudden sincerity of his words catching Vito off-guard. Henry averts his gaze a moment later, breathing in deeply and letting it out through his nose. His next remark is quiet and honest, only made harder to hear by his deep voice. “Just— feels like I stepped over the line. I don’t know.”

Expression softening, Vito reaches out to put a hand on Henry’s arm— pulls back with a shake of his head. “What fuckin’ line? Wasn’t aware there was one.” He tears his fingers through his hair and manages his usual crooked grin, head tilted to the side as he keeps his eyes on Henry. “If it exists, _I’m_ the one who crossed it by blowin’ you on the way over here, I think.”

Bringing his gaze back to Vito’s face, Henry can only stare, eye darting around and searching for… _something._ What that could possibly be, Vito doesn’t know— he doesn’t think he’ll be finding out anytime soon, either, as Henry retreats back behind his walls and turns away yet again. He pulls his boxers and his undershirt out of his dresser’s top drawer, sliding it shut afterwards. “Right,” he says, though he doesn’t sound all that _present_ right now. “I’d say so, too.”

Vito raises his eyebrows, breathing out a frustrated noise. “I don’t fuckin’ get you,” he starts, crossing his arms again. “Make up your Goddamn mind about this, will you? I mean, you claim you don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen, but you keep giving me the cold shoulder. What do I gotta do to get you to talk? Blow you again?” A scoff, as he barrels ahead before Henry can even think of gracing him with a response to that. “Here’s a _grand_ idea, Tomasino. Why don’t you let me know when you figure it out? But you better be aware that I ain’t fuckin’ sticking around until you do, ‘cause I ain’t got time to waste.”

Inhaling deeply, Henry turns to face Vito again, expression unreadable as he stares down at the younger man. He doesn’t say anything for a _long_ while, eyebrows furrowed and jaw flexing. “I think you should leave,” he speaks finally, tone sharp and absolutely _freezing._ Even then, there’s the underlying sense that he doesn’t mean what he says, that he’s forcing himself to push Vito away in spite of how he truly feels. But it’s all gone in an instant when he points at the door, brows creasing even further as his stare turns to a harsh glare. “ _Out._ ”

For a moment that feels like it lasts hours, all Vito can do is stare back. Then, throwing his hands up in the air, he turns on his heel. “Alright, alright, I’m going! Sorry for wantin’ to give you _some_ sense of companionship, ‘cause you obviously need it.” Once again, he continues before Henry can reply. “No, I bet you’ll be _real_ fuckin’ happy all alone in this big house of yours. Have a good day, Tomasino. You know how to reach me.”

Vito doesn’t wait for a goodbye, and he definitely doesn’t expect Henry to stop him, so he stomps out of the room, down the stairs, into the cold of the early morning. It’s only when a particularly nasty gust of wind crashes into him that he realizes he forgot his jacket— and worse yet, that his face is wet. He hadn’t noticed he’d started crying and with an honestly fucking _pathetic_ sniff, he wipes at his eyes with the heel of his hand. What _is_ he getting all torn up for anyway? It wasn’t like he could ever have anything more than a fleeting affair with Henry. He knew that when he’d asked him if it was alright to kiss him the night before.

Despite something telling him not to, he spares a glance up towards Henry’s bedroom window.

The curtains are yanked shut.

 

* * *

 

It took Henry longer than expected to get dressed.

He spent most of his time just pacing back and forth in only a towel as he berated himself for being such a Goddamn _idiot,_ for pushing Vito away at a time when they should be together as one, for— for _everything,_ really. There’s a sharp pang in his chest every time he thinks of the other man and last night as a whole, something he recognizes immediately as guilt. Crushing, consuming _guilt_ that he just can’t seem to shake, no matter how hard he tries. He’s been running through each moment of last night in his mind since he woke up this morning, over and over again, criticizing every little thing he did all the way down to what he only _thought_ of doing. The possibility that he could’ve overstepped his boundaries and somehow _forced_ Vito into that situation nags at his sensibilities and makes him crumble under the weight of remorse, taunting him and reminding him that he’s an immoral _bastard_ and nothing more.

Granted, Vito _did_ initiate most everything, but— still, there has to be something completely and utterly _reprehensible_ that Henry subjected the younger man to. Even if he can’t think of it now, he’s sure it’ll come up later, and it’s then that he’ll finally be judged and put to shame like the depraved degenerate he is. Really, why did he think for a _second_ that he deserved someone as beyond his depth as _Vito Scaletta?_ Vito has so much going for him; there’s his duties within the family, for one thing, and for another… he could have _anyone_ he wanted. Why, then, would he ever pick someone like _Henry?_

Henry’s convinced that the only reason Vito even _considered_ sleeping with him is because he pitied him. He pitied him because of his vulnerability that night, because of the way he opened up and shared just that bit more about himself, because of the way he wilted like a weak, _miserable_ flower in the snow as his troubled past came back to haunt him. Maybe, _just_ maybe there was a moment that Vito thought of him as more than someone to be assuaged of his internal suffering, but even then, it must’ve only been a moment. Only one moment among several, possibly hundreds, ultimately lost in the static of last night and never to be found again.

Despite all of this, despite the way that Vito had walked out and made it clear that he didn’t want to continue their little _thing_ until Henry could get ahold of himself, he felt a desperate need to see the younger man again. It hollowed out his chest and created an agonizing _ache_ in his heart, every beat reminding him how much he missed having Vito with him. He missed every touch, every brush of Vito’s fingertips to his skin, every word the man would speak and every _moan_ that was drawn out of him. He missed every light, barely-there freckle on Vito’s face, the sight of which left him absolutely _starstruck_ the first time he noticed. He missed holding Vito in his arms during the night, still awake while the younger man had fallen asleep hours before, afraid to close his eye in the fear that such a rare moment of bliss would all be over when he woke up.

When Henry spotted Vito’s jacket left on the coat rack on his way out the door, he made sure to take it with him.

After all, they do have to see each other again for business today— nothing could ever stop _that_ from happening. They're in for a stern talking-to from Eddie, that's for sure. He'll probably want to know why they let their mark drive by like a couple of _idiots,_ and Henry can only hope that Vito will keep the truth about that night buried deep within, never to bring it into the light and condemn them both to a fate that's, in Henry’s mind, worse than death. He finds himself standing outside of the Maltese Falcon in the cold, hair and shoulders dappled with freshly-fallen snow as he rubs his gloved hands together, eye darting around a bit nervously. He's got Vito's jacket hanging from his arm, hoping that it'll serve as a good enough peace offering when the man comes by to suffer a lecture from Eddie and receive his next assignment.

And sure enough, there he is now. He looks no happier than he had been this morning— if anything, he looks _more_ upset, but maybe that’s just because he’s having to trek through the snow without a jacket. That’s just wishful thinking, actually, seeing that as soon as he lays eyes on Henry, his scowl only deepens. He comes to a complete halt and if glares could kill, there’s a strong chance that Henry would be in an early grave. “You waitin’ on me?”

Henry doesn’t say anything at first, only breathing in and out as he steps forward, holding out Vito’s jacket. “You left it at my place,” he says, tone hushed— even while they’re standing alone in the cold, there’s still the deep-rooted fear that someone can hear them. When Vito doesn’t take the jacket immediately, only staring down at it as if he’s trying to burn a hole through the leather, Henry snaps his fingers in front of his face. “You asleep at the wheel? C’mon.”

Seemingly coming back down to Earth, Vito huffs and yanks the jacket from his grasp before slipping his arms through the sleeves. He adjusts it a bit and pushes past into the building, obviously not ready to continue speaking if it was with Henry. Now it’s Henry’s turn to stare, eyebrows furrowed as he watches Vito disappear into the bar. He takes a moment to count to ten, squeezing his eye shut and pinching the bridge of his nose all the while, exhaling sharply and following suit once he composes himself enough. It doesn’t take long to spot Eddie at a table in the back— he doesn’t look even _remotely_ pleased to see either of them, somewhat aggressively waving the two men over and gesturing for them to sit across from him.

 _This is the day I die,_ runs through Henry’s head as he crosses the room, ending up by Vito’s side. He gives the other man a look that says _‘go ahead’_ and gestures to the booth seats across from Eddie, not breaking eye contact for even a second. Vito merely scoffs and moves to slide as far over as he can, arms crossed over his chest. Resisting the urge to roll his eye, Henry slides in next to Vito, giving him all the space in the world.

Eddie opens his mouth to speak— shuts it, glancing between them with one eyebrow raised and a _hefty_ amount of puzzlement in his expression. While they’d usually be safe from any personal inquiries, as Eddie’s the type of person to go straight to business, today is not their lucky day. “The fuck happened between you two?” Is the first sentence out of his mouth, as he continues to eye them with confusion. “You’re actin’ like a couple of kids.”

Vito focuses his attention on Eddie, managing his usual crooked grin— albeit one with a modicum of strain to it. “‘S nothing big,” he says. “Just got into a spat yesterday.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Henry was being an asshole. Things were said.”

Henry’s attention snaps to the man beside him, and he inhales with the full intent to argue, but he’s cut off by Eddie instead. “Is that why you pair of _idiots_ let your guy go? Because you were too busy _fighting?_ ” The older man gives an unimpressed scoff, his disappointment only growing. “I’ve got half a mind to send you two to Carlo himself.”

Putting his hands up in mock surrender, Vito’s grin takes on a little bit more sincerity. “Can’t make no promises for Henry over here, but I’ll be good, Eddie,” he says. “Swear on my mother’s grave.”

Returning his eye to Eddie, Henry lets it fall shut and dips his head respectfully, hands clasped atop the table. “It won’t happen again,” he concedes, tone _deathly_ serious. When he opens his eye, he glances at Vito out of the corner of it, and in one look he can feel his chest tightening. There’s so many things he wants to say— he wants to apologize, he wants to make things _right,_ by God he really does, but… something tells him Vito doesn’t want to hear any of it. Not now, not ever. His focus returns to Eddie before the other man can notice him staring. “Is that all you have for us?”

While Vito hadn’t noticed him staring, it seems that Eddie did, if his hardened expression and tightened jaw is anything to go by. Silence hangs in the air for what feels like an eternity, as he only looks between them with harshly analytical eyes. It ends with Eddie clearing his throat to continue, just as Henry’s anxiety reaches its peak and his heartbeat stutters. “I’m givin’ you two another assignment,” he starts, gesturing as he speaks. “Since you failed your last hit, this’ll be something a little less _complicated,_ ” he sneers, “but it’ll still need cooperation from _both_ of you. See, you boys work well together— that’s exactly what we need right now.” He reaches into a pocket inside his suit jacket, pulling out a folded-up piece of paper and passing it over. Next, he retrieves a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, taking one and lighting it between his teeth. “So you’re gonna be runnin’ a body from here to Monticello tomorrow. I’ve written the dumping ground on that paper there, along with where you two are pickin’ up the unlucky bastard.” One of his usual unsettling smirks is playing at his lips, as he takes a long drag from his cigarette and breathes it out in the direction of the men before him. “I think you’ll recognize who it was. Good thing another one of our guys was around to clean up your mess, huh?”

Vito raises his eyebrows and Henry knows exactly what he’s thinking right now— how long of a drive that’d be, just the two of them all alone in a cramped space with no escape. There’s no guessing that he’s already dreading it. “No offense, Ed, but that’s nearly two hours away.”

Once again, Eddie speaks before Henry can give his own protest— God _damn,_ that’s starting to get on his nerves. “So?” He asks as if it’s nothing, and in his mind it probably is. There’s no way he has any idea as to what _really_ happened last night and this morning; sure, he might have some notion it was more than just a fight, but Henry doubts he’d ever connect the dots and discover the truth. “If you’re worried about gas,” Eddie starts, effectively returning Henry to the moment, “we’ll pay for all of it. On top of that,  _both_ of you have taken longer drives to dump bodies before.” It’s then that he leans forward with furrowed brows, cigarette between his pointer and middle finger. “Is there somethin’ more to that _spat_ I’m hearin’ about, boys?”

Immediately, Henry turns to Vito with a grave expression, wordlessly begging him not to fight it and to just suck it up. Vito shoots Eddie a grin. “Nope,” he says, popping the _‘p’_. “Just have plans with my sister that I’m gonna have to cancel.” Immediately, Henry picks up on how _bullshit_ that excuse is— but he doesn’t say a word. No, in fact he _understands_ the other man’s desire to get out of this situation, as awkward and ever-worsening it is. Vito moves to stand, gesturing for Henry to get up and let him out. “If you two don’t mind, I’ll do that real quick. Better to disappoint her now than later.”

“Ah— right,” is all Henry says, clearing his throat and sliding out of the booth so Vito can get out, his eye not leaving the man for a moment.

Vito doesn’t grace Henry with anything more a quick _‘thanks’_ , moving to head towards the phone. It takes a while for Henry to finally peel his eye off of the other man, just as Eddie speaks up with one brow raised. “You’re honest,” he starts, gesturing widely. “So are _you_ gonna tell me what the Hell’s goin’ on between you two? I swear, you went from bein’ inseparable after all that bullshit with the Tongs—” when Henry flinches at Eddie’s words, nose wrinkling and eye squeezing shut as the sensation of every rip and tear comes back to him in an instant, Eddie stops. He continues slowly, holding out his hands in a _‘calm down’_ motion. “...to whatever _this_ is.”

Henry’s eye is still closed as he reaches up to rub at his temples, breathing in and out in a way that’s almost too measured, _too_ calculated. For fuck’s sake, did Eddie _really_ have to bring up something so recent and still so Goddamn _painful?_ He can still feel everything, from the onslaught of sharp metal slicing into his skin to the procedure El Greco performed on his half-conscious body, and it all still _haunts_ him every night he goes to sleep. He drops his hands a moment later, crossing his arms and staring down at the floor. “It’s complicated, Eddie,” he says, jaw clenching and unclenching— one of his nervous tics. “Personal.”

Eddie opens his mouth to speak— he doesn’t get a chance to, as Vito comes strolling back up to the table with his hands shoved in his pockets. “Well,” he starts, “looks like I’m going to be dealing with a _lot_ of dinners with my sister and her deadbeat husband, but I’m a free man for tomorrow.” He gives the two men a grin that isn’t quite right, head tilted to the side. “We should probably head out while we still got a lil’ bit of daylight, Ed. Got anything else ‘fore we do?”

Inhaling and exhaling a deep sigh, Eddie just gestures towards the door. “No, you’re both free to go,” he says, pushing the folded-up piece of paper still on the table towards them. Henry takes it and tucks it into his jacket, silent as Eddie continues. “Fair warning, though— if you fuck this job up, you’re goin’ straight to Carlo instead of me.” He opens his arms, leaning back in his seat. “ _Capisci?_ ”

All too fake grin still in place, Vito offers Eddie a two finger salute. “You can count on us,” he says, and he turns his full attention to Henry for the first time that afternoon. “Walk me out. I think I owe you an apology.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, merely gesturing for him to follow with a jerk of his chin before heading for the door.

 _Oh, thank God._ Henry gives Eddie a nod of his head before doing as told, walking with Vito all the way outside and into the wintertime chill. Now that they’re alone, he racks his brain for what he could possibly say—  _great time to go speechless, you stupid bastard._ He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a sharp rush of air. “Listen, Vito, I—” His voice dies in his throat and he clasps his gloved hands, wringing them a bit nervously. He doesn’t meet Vito’s gaze, eye lowered as shame heats his face, his mind _screaming_ all the while. _Just apologize,_ it pleads, _even if you think he doesn’t want to hear it, do it anyways. What could it hurt?_ Henry’s jaw tightens and his eyebrows furrow at the thought, his pride and his conscience internally ripping each other to shreds. Despite how much he wants to fix everything, he settles for something… _neutral._ Not too much, but not too little either. “Just… wanted to say thanks.”

All Vito does is shrug his shoulders. “‘S no problem,” he says, and it looks like he wants to say something more, maybe completely lay into Henry with everything that’s on his mind, but— it doesn’t leave his lips. He turns on his heel. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Tomasino. Thanks for bringing me my jacket.” With that, he gives a little wave over his shoulder that somehow comes off as sarcastic and starts walking in the other direction.

Henry can only stare after him, lips parted as his chest rises and falls, warm breath visible in the dry, freezing air.

 _Tomasino._ He says it with such… acidity.

For the first time in his life, Henry hates his own name.

 

* * *

 

As much as he didn’t like admitting it, a smart man would be the _last_ thing Joe would consider himself to be.

Fortunately enough, it didn’t take a smart man to figure out that something was wrong, specifically concerning Vito and Henry. Eddie didn’t fill him in on much, except that the two had missed their mark— which was already strange in itself considering that they were the _last_ two people he’d expect to get distracted on the job. Now the matter Joe found more pressing was that apparently they had been avoiding each other like the Goddamn plague or some other schoolkid bullshit. Just his luck that something as heavy as this would go down whenever he _wasn’t_ around; if he was, he could’ve at least tried to play the rare role of mediator.

Be that as it may, Vito was still his friend and Joe would try his absolute _damnedest_ to help make the other man feel the least bit better. And if that meant having to leave Henry out of their usual drinking stints, then so be it. Whatever Vito wanted. He could ask for the entire Goddamn _world_ and he’d be there, carrying it on his shoulders. That’s what friends were for, right? Just friends. No more, no less. Vito was his oldest _friend,_ so it only makes sense that he'd jump to the man’s side at a moment’s notice.

Right now, they’re at the Maltese Falcon, a couple of shitty beers and half a bottle of whiskey later. They’ve worked up a good buzz, though Joe more so than Vito if his rosy cheeks were anything to go by. He’s just about wrapping up one of his stories and nothing could possibly be better than hearing Vito laugh in response. A real, genuine laugh that sends a flutter to Joe’s traitorous heart and makes his already-red cheeks burn a little brighter. Pushing the feeling down and chalking it off as nothing more than a side effect of the booze, he reaches over to gently knock his glass against Vito’s with a soft _clink._

“What’d I tell you, huh?” He asks, crooked grin on display and gaze nothing short of _adoring—_ though, he hopes the other man’s just a _touch_ too inebriated to notice that last bit. Regardless, he laughs, gently smacking Vito on the arm. “I _told_ you a couple drinks would help!”

Vito breathes out a laugh of his own, shaking his head and going to take a sip of his drink. “You’re always right, Joey,” he says, and he reaches out to ruffle his hair in that distractingly affectionate way he always did, the fluttering in Joe’s chest only worsening when his fingers brush his cheek. Thankfully, Vito doesn’t give him a chance to dwell on it, as he swallows a large swig of whiskey and continues. “Don’t know what I’d ever do without you.” A pause and another laugh. “Live a normal life, maybe.”

“Yeah, you’d probably be right,” Joe replies, laughing again before finishing his glass. He’s refilling it again before long, taking another sip. “But how fuckin’ _boring_ would that be, huh? You’d just be working your ass off day in and day out and you wouldn’t be even making the kind of money you are now.”

Tapping his fingers on the table, Vito gives him his usual crooked grin. “And once again, _you’re_ right, my friend,” he says, finishing off his own glass, but not immediately moving to refill it. Instead, he leans back in his seat and tears his fingers through his dark locks, effectively disheveling them. “I don’t know, Joey. I guess I’ve just been thinking— wondering what it’d be like if things were different.” He’s gone back to drumming on the table. “I mean, really, this life isn’t exactly the most _forgiving_ and neither are the people.” It doesn’t take a genius to know who it is he’s talking about and much to Joe’s distress, his grin is completely gone. He finally moves to refill his glass and downs almost all of it in one go. “I’m an idiot.”

At that, Joe sits up straight, eyebrows furrowing in what could only be concern. “Hey, hey. If this is about… _y’know,_ don’t worry about it, alright? I haven’t got a clue what you two got into, but you ain’t an idiot, alright?” Offering a slightly sympathetic smile, he reaches over to gently give Vito a pat on the shoulder. “Just you wait— in a few days, all of this is gonna blow over and it’ll be like nothin’ happened.”

Vito inhales deeply and Joe’s distress only worsens when he hears the telltale _sniff_ that follows. “I keep tellin’ myself that, Joey,” he mumbles, and he digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, obviously trying to fight back tears. He’d always been an emotional drunk— he just usually cried over much stupider things than whatever was going on between him and Henry, like the weather or a stray cat he saw on the way to the bar. “I’m not a very good listener, though, am I?” He lets out a watery laugh and drops his hands from his face. Already, his eyes are red and puffy, but he forces a smile anyway. “Thanks for tryin’ to cheer me up, but— I think I should go home. I’m tired and you probably wouldn’t want to have to drag my stupid ass out of here if I got too drunk to stand.”

“Just doin’ my best to help, buddy,” Joe replies as he watches Vito stand. “And anyways, it’s not like I would a’ minded. I can think of a few times where you had to clean up after me,” he adds, tone taking on a bit of remorse as the memories flood back for a brief moment. But regardless, he stands up as well to give the other man one last pat on the back. “But go on home and get some sleep, it might help. Take care a’ yourself, alright?”

For a long, long moment, all Vito does is stare at him. Then, in one swift move, he pulls Joe into a tight hug and all-but-sends him into cardiac arrest. Hugs from Vito weren’t exactly _rare,_ but— something about this one was different, as if he was looking for some sort of tether to this earth to keep himself grounded. He breathes in deeply once more, words muffled by Joe’s jacket when he speaks. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you.” He pulls away with that same forced smile on his face, taking a step back. “You’re too good to me, Joey, honestly. I’ll figure out some way to repay you later, alright? Thanks again.” It’s all he has to say before he’s turning on his heel to leave, door to the bar swinging shut behind him.

For the longest minute, Joe could only stare after Vito, heart pounding and cheeks flushed from more than just the cheap booze. Tearing his fingers through his hair, he can only sigh and settle back in the booth to finish his drink.  

 

* * *

 

Ever since he’d gotten home, all Vito had done is damn near wear a hole in the floor.

It’s an old habit, pacing like this, but with how _restless_ he feels, he can’t push down the need to constantly be moving. The whole… _thing_ with Henry is really starting to weigh on him, his worries and fears and anxieties piling up on his shoulders and making him feel like Atlas himself. He wants to get over it. He wants to move on. He wants… well, quite frankly, the only thing he really wants is Henry, but that’s never going to happen. Vito’s fine with that. Completely, totally, utterly _fine_ with it. He’d find a pretty girl, settle down with her, have a few kids that look like him down to the freckles dotting their faces. He’d forget that Henry Tomasino had _ever_ meant anything more to him than a business partner, a friend. He’d go on with his life in complete peace and that would be that.

He’s making this sound a lot easier than it actually is. With a frustrated groan, Vito comes to a complete stop, digging his nails into his scalp and squeezing his eyes shut. Right about now, he really wants to kick something, do some damage and let off some steam, but that wouldn’t be any more productive than drinking had been. So, grumbling to himself, he drops his hands and flops down on the couch. He needs to mentally prepare himself for the drive tomorrow— if he had to be stuck with Henry in an enclosed space for nearly two hours, he’s going to need every last shred of sanity he still has. He can’t waste it all tonight. He’s already used up a _lot_  of it.

His thoughts are very rudely interrupted by the rapping of knuckles on his door. Deciding right then and there that whoever is on the other side can just fuck off for all he cares, Vito stays quiet, still. _Go away, go away, go away—_  more knocking. Great. This isn’t helping the pounding in his skull and biting out a sigh, he moves to open the door.

Much to his surprise, it’s the very man he’s got on his mind standing there.

“Tomasino,” Vito starts slowly, “what do you want? It’s late.”  

Just as the words leave his mouth, he notices Henry swaying, the other man barely managing to stay upright even as he leans heavily against the wall. He looks like an absolute mess— no coat, jacket open, no vest, shirt unbuttoned down to his collarbone, and to top it all off his tie is hanging loose around his neck. He’s staring down at Vito through his one good eye, half-lidded and… _puffy._ It almost looks like he had been _crying_ before coming up to Vito’s door— that only increases his shock, even going so far as to tug at his heartstrings. “Wanted to see you,” Henry mumbles, stepping a bit closer. God, he absolutely _reeks_ of wine, cheap and expensive alike. “ _Needed_ to see you.”

Vito raises his eyebrows. “You’re drunk,” he says, crossing his arms. “Doubt you’re fuckin’ thinkin’ straight right now. Why would you need to see _me?_ ” He doesn’t let Henry answer that, if he even _could_ with how intoxicated he is. “Let me call you a taxi. I don’t want you drivin’ home like this.”

It seems that Vito’s words just fly right over Henry’s head, as he only lets his eye fall shut and breathes deeply. He stays like that for what feels like forever, eye still closed when he speaks, words slurred and somehow even _more_ vulnerable than the night before. “I missed you,” he whispers, leaning in just a bit closer. “Felt like shit all day. Needed you, _caro. Mi sei mancata_ so— so fuckin’ much, Vito.” English and Italian blend together in a drunken haze as he continues, quiet and barely audible. “ _Dio,_ I _missed_ you.”

Inhaling sharply, Vito opens his mouth to speak— finds that he can’t think of what to say. Every word he’d ever known had been stolen from his mind in one fell swoop. Tearing his fingers through his hair, he bites his lip as hard as possible, nearly drawing blood. _Say something, anything_. “You’re drunk, Henry.” _Idiot_. He sounds like a broken record. With a small, defeated sigh, he moves so the other man can get inside. “Sit. I’ll go call for that taxi.”  

That gets Henry to open his eye, staring right into Vito’s own with a sudden clarity. There’s nothing more than _heartache_ in his gaze, as if he’s lost the favor of the love of his life— such reverence catches Vito heavily off-guard. “Please,” Henry murmurs, shaking his head. “Don’t make me go, Vito.” He steps a little closer, still holding on to the wall. It doesn’t look like he’ll be getting anywhere without any help. “I— I wanna be with you.”

Once again, Vito can’t think of what to say. So, without another word, he moves to help Henry inside and kick the door shut behind them. He doesn’t speak, not until he’s got the other man settled on the couch, hands on his shoulders to keep him up right. “You can stay for tonight,” he says, and despite himself, he moves to brush some hair out of Henry’s face. It’s grossly affectionate and he has to bite back the urge to curse for showing such _weakness_ for him. “But we’ve got a _job_ tomorrow, remember? What were you _doin’,_ goin’ and gettin’ so drunk?” He’s being a little hypocritical, probably, but— he’s only had a bit of whiskey, even sobered himself up at that. Not nearly as much as Henry’s apparently had. “Sleep it off. We can talk in the morning.”

In a move that honest to God makes Vito question whether or not he’s dreaming, Henry shifts even closer on the couch and moves to lie down, resting his head in the younger man’s lap with his eye on the ceiling. If he has any conscious idea of what he’s doing, he doesn’t make it known— he only nuzzles a little closer to Vito, all of his walls completely broken down and leaving only the desperate man that lies within. Just as he begins to speak, his eye falls shut. “‘M sorry,” he mumbles, his sudden and total sincerity startling Vito. “‘M sorry for _everything._ Shouldn’t’ve been a— a _bastard_ to you this morning. Shouldn’t’ve kept it goin’ so long.”

Eyebrows furrowing, Vito’s hand ends up in Henry’s hair again, fingers gently combing through his dark locks. “No hard feelings,” he says, voice incredibly soft. It’s far from the truth; he’d been wanting to hear an apology from the other man all day and now that he’s getting it, he’s realizing he needs _more_ than just pretty words, but there’s no sense in getting into an argument with somebody who can’t hold their own. “You really that torn up about it?”

Henry nods, and even in silence Vito can tell he’s being honest. “Bad,” he murmurs, opening his eye and staring up at the man whose lap he’s using as a pillow, still half-lidded and still as red and puffy as before. “Didn’t even drink after the attack.” He exhales sharply through his nose, squeezing his eye shut and bringing his hand up to his face, palm pressed into his eyepatch. “After _either_ of ‘em.”

With a soft hum, Vito continues to run his fingers through Henry’s hair, hoping it’s at least a _little_ soothing. “At least we were both feelin’ bad,” he says, but it’s a lame attempt at trying to lighten the mood. He breathes in deeply. “Y’really hurt me, Hen, but I guess I don’t blame you. I mean, it was a mistake. We made a _huge_ fuckin’ mistake.” He swallows hard. “A terrible one.”

At that, Henry shakes his head. “‘S not a mistake,” he mumbles, opening his eye to gaze up at Vito. He reaches up to cup the man’s face— all he manages is a light caress of his cheek, hand lingering far too long to be just _friendly._ His expression is softer than Vito’s ever seen before, words quiet. “Thought we did somethin’ good. I don’t— I don’t know.” He finally takes his hand off of Vito’s cheek, averting his gaze with a slight frown as his face flushes with what could only be embarrassment. “First time I fucked a man in a while. Thought it _meant_ somethin’, y’know?”

Vito inhales sharply, averting his own gaze. “I don’t know,” he echoes, gently scratching Henry’s scalp. “I mean, it… was kind of spur of the moment, wasn’t it? Again, I don’t blame you for kickin’ me out or givin’ me the cold shoulder.” He focuses his attention on the nearest window, watching flakes of snow float by on the breeze outside the frosty glass. “We should forget it happened. It’s already interferin’ with our work. Even Eddie noticed somethin’ was off and no offense to him, but he’s about as observant as a blind man.”

Henry goes quiet. He just stares out at the same window Vito’s got his attention on, chest rising and falling with each deep breath. It isn’t long before his eye falls shut, the pace of his breathing slowing down with each inhale and exhale. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, and carefully, _so_ carefully that it could be considered tenderly affectionate, he reaches for Vito’s hand. There’s another long round of silence, and right when Vito thinks he might’ve fallen asleep— he utters something quiet enough that it’s nigh inaudible, soft and almost _sensitive._ “Don’t wanna quit this. Don’t wanna quit _you._ ”

“You’re drunk,” Vito says again, and it’s all he can _think_ to say, even if it’s just repeating something that he’s already said. He feels like he’s completely malfunctioning, completely _breaking_. There’s nothing he hates more right now than the fact that he’s so _weak_ for somebody he shouldn’t be. He squeezes his eyes shut and breathes in. Out. “We can talk about it in the morning when you’re sober. I’m sure you’ll have changed your mind by then.” Half of him hopes that’s true, half of him prays it doesn’t happen. “I’m gonna head to bed, Henry. You gonna let me move?”

He doesn’t get a response— Henry’s already fallen into a deep sleep, head resting in Vito’s lap all the while. Vito bites back the urge to swear. Somebody up there _really_ has it out for him— his father, maybe. That seems most likely. With a sigh, he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He can’t deal with this right now and _God,_ he couldn’t even try to escape if he wanted to; he’d feel guilty if he moved and woke the other man up when he so obviously needed the rest. Another sigh escaping his lips, he shifts and tries to get as comfortable as possible.

It’s going to be a _long_ night, and an even longer morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we said we'd do it  
> also god we went on so many adventures writing this?? we listened to holding out for a hero from shrek 2, put hot and cold by katy perry on repeat one night, blew through a bunch of french disney songs at my behest because i'm that bitch, and we even memed that the italian version of i won't say i'm in love from hercules was vito in this fic. wyld  
> btw i'll write a cool summary soon my brain hurts
> 
> \- ri


End file.
